


The Intern

by house_of_lantis



Series: Neckz-N-Throats Magazine Stories [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Neckz 'n' Throats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 03:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/house_of_lantis/pseuds/house_of_lantis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is the new intern at Neckz-N-Throats Magazine, working as a lowly assistant, when he meets the mysterious and photogenic Derek Hale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Intern

**Author's Note:**

> Another offering to the Neckz-n-Throats verse. I couldn’t resist. 
> 
> NOTE: This snippet is unrelated to "The Collar" and "Stiles is Not This Easy on a First Date" NNT verse. 
> 
> First published on my "secret" Tumblr page.

 

[ ](http://s769.photobucket.com/user/house_of_lantis/media/cb70a8a6-909a-46b4-bd6a-eff1fe76de63.jpg.html)

 

**THE INTERN**

“Where’s the intern!” Finstock yelled, handing his camera over to Boyd. Stiles could hear the man’s voice from out in the crowded hallway, trying to get past the twenty people milling around outside the studio. “What’s the kid’s name again? Biles? And what the hell kind of name is Biles anyway? Biles!”

“Stiles Stilinski,” Boyd said, evenly, as he swapped out the SD card with a new one.

“Bilinski! You’re up!”

Stiles nearly tripped as he ran onto the studio’s fake bedroom set, catching his breath as he leaned his hand on the table and cocking his hip, unsuccessfully giving off a casual air. “Hey, Coach, you need me?”

“Look, kid, I know this is your first time up to bat, but you gotta be present for the entire game. You need to grab the bull by the horns and take some responsibility for yourself,” Finstock said, his eyes wide and slightly crazed. Stiles never understood half of Finstock’s analogies, but he nodded enthusiastically nonetheless. “Get Derek’s robe so he can put something on and grab some food without wagging his dick at the table -- get him a bottle of water while we reset the lights.”

“You got it, Coach,” Stiles said, looking around the studio for a robe. He bumped into the craft services table and nearly knocked everything over in his haste to grab a bottle of water. “Whoa, sorry, sorry, I got it.”

He took a deep, calming breath and stepped up on the set, trying not to stare at the dark haired man sprawled naked on the wrinkled white sheets. He was a young professional; he would not stare or drool at all that lovely, lovely tanned skin. He would not look past Derek’s belly button or to the trail of dark hair that led to his –

“Hey, Mr Hale, here’s some water for you. I’ll go find your robe.”

Derek turned his head and gave Stiles a disgruntled look, taking the proffered bottle of water. “Thanks.”

Stiles walked around the room, looking for a robe, and glanced over his shoulder at Derek.

Derek Hale was a gorgeous hazel eyed Beta werewolf and one of the most popular models for _Neckz-N-Throats Magazine_. All of the Hales were infamous for being extremely photogenic. Derek’s mom, Talia, had built a publishing empire, taking a small town’s weekly newsletter on the care and grooming of werewolves and creating a world brand of luxury and fantasy and sex appeal. Not able to afford professional models, she had photographed her family, depicting a charming, storybook lifestyle – wholesome and happy children, a shy and bookish human husband, an elegant and charming younger brother – and established the Hale dynasty. 

Twenty years later, Derek Hale was the magazine cover’s “It Boy” of the century. His older sister, Laura, had retired from being in front of the camera to directing art house independent films. Their younger sister, Cora, walked the runways all over the world and was the face for House of Hale, a fragrance line targeted to werewolves. Peter had stopped modeling in his mid-30s, but his extravagant lifestyle and Wolfsbane-laced alcohol empire made him a prize for the paparazzi, mostly for being the most infamous of them all.

Derek continued to grace the pages of _Neckz-N-Throats Magazine_ as the fan favorite; he was all grown up now. Gone were the shy and crooked smiles; at 25, he oozed sex and appealed to men and women, to Alphas and Betas and Omegas. Stiles had to admit that it really worked for him.

“No, no, no, these aren’t good,” Finstock complained, his hands on his hips as he glared at the computer screen, looking through each frame of picture zooming by. “There’s no heat! There’s no sex!”

Stiles picked up a white terrycloth robe from a chair across the room and watched as Finstock stomped over to the bed, staring down at Derek.

“Kid, why’re you so pissed off? You’ve ruined every shot that has your face in it with that godawful sour face,” Finstock told him, shaking his head. “Look, you’re a good looking man. Strong werewolf, good musculature. I would kill a random stranger to be you for a day, okay? I’d give up the Mets ever winning the Series for a body like yours.” He waved his hand, gesturing to Derek’s naked body. “So what the hell is the problem, kid? Why’re you trying to make my life hell?”

“Is his face that important?” Stiles said, holding the robe in his arms.

Everyone turned to look at him; even Derek raised his head off the bed to stare at him.

“Is his _face_ that important?” Finstock said, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. “Yes his godawful face is important! Look at that face! That brings in $12 million a year! Look at the chiseled jawline! Look at the eyes and the nose. I bet he’s never broken his nose in his life. And that fur on his face. That probably cost him a couple hundred bucks to get it to look so perfect!”

Derek rolled his eyes, dropping his head back on the bed and glaring up at the ceiling.

“I’m not disputing the fact that Mr Hale has a, um, nice face,” Stiles said, feeling his ears turn red. “I’m just saying that maybe he could showcase some other part of his…body.”

“Showcase some other part of his – hey, now wait a minute, that’s not a bad idea—“

“You’re not getting a full frontal shot of my dick,” Derek muttered, raising his leg and tucking it in front of his groin.

Finstock turned to look at him, cocking his head to side. “Hold that pose, that’s a good shot. Boyd! Bring my camera! Get these lights set up so I can get some shots of his ass!”

Derek turned and glared at Stiles and Stiles gave him a pained and apologetic grin.

“Derek, raise your leg a little more – that’s right,” Finstock said, the click of the camera the only sound in the room as Finstock moved around the bed. “Nice, that’s nice, show us your ass, kid. Good, that’s good, hold it right there! That’s the shot!”

The room jumped to attention as Finstock handed the camera over to Boyd, looking over his shoulder as Boyd downloaded the new pictures.

“Hey,” Stiles said, handing over the robe. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to objectify you or offend you.”

Derek rolled his eyes and tugged the robe on, tying it closed in the front. Stiles smiled; a shame to hide all that. “You saved me from having to suffer through another two hours of this so thanks.”

He stalked past Stiles and went to the craft services table, grabbing a plate and building a thick sandwich. Knowing that this was probably his only opportunity, Stiles strolled discreetly towards Derek.

“So is there anything that I can get you, Mr Hale?”

“For starters, you can call me Derek.”

Stiles grinned. “I’m Stiles.”

Derek glanced up at him. “So I heard.” He set his plate down and slathered a thick spread of mayo on his bread. “So you’re the new intern?”

“Yeah. I’m in my second year at UCBH and I didn’t want to wait until I was a senior to have some job experience on my resume,” he said, fiddling with the tail of his plaid shirt. “So I just wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your work.”

“Thanks,” Derek murmured, softly.

“And not to make this sound creepy or anything, but I used to see pictures of you in the magazine. It’s like I grew up with you, you know.”

He watched as Derek placed the bread on top of his sandwich, flicking his eyes up at Stiles.

“And you grew up real nice.”

Stiles winced when Derek raised his eyebrows.

“That sounded creepy, didn’t it?”

Derek gave a wry grin and chuckled to himself. “It’s all right. I’ve heard worse.”

“Yeah, that’s the one! Right there!” Finstock yelled, his hands in the air. “That’s the field goal! I feel like I need to blow a whistle or something. Someone get me a whistle!”

Stiles made a face and shook his head. “He’s really…”

“Weird, yeah,” Derek said, smiling at him. “He used to be a high school Lacrosse coach.”

“That makes sense now, why he wants to be called Coach.”

Derek motioned for Stiles to follow him as he walked to the nearby tables, sitting down in one of the folding chairs. He pushed out the chair across from him with his foot. “Sit.”

Stiles licked his lips and sat down. He watched as Derek took a large bite out of his sandwich, chewing slowly and carefully. “So, um, what do you do besides the modeling?”

“Are you asking because you’re being polite or because you really want to know?”

“Because I really want to know?”

Derek frowned.

“Because I really _do_ want to know,” Stiles said, confidently.

“This is my last shoot for a while. I’m starting grad school in the fall,” he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Really? Where? What program?”

“UCBH. European history, focusing on the history of werewolf clans.”

_Holy shit, they were going to be on campus together!_

“Wow…”

Derek’s face shuttered and he took another bite of his sandwich, looking away.

“No, I mean, that’s great! I didn’t think…”

 _Mayday! Mayday!_ Stiles was about to crash and burn!

“Didn’t think I was the type of person who’d want to study European History?”

Stiles gave a nervous chuckle. “No! No, no. Well, you know…”

“I graduated from Princeton for my undergrad.”

“Oh.”

Derek continued to eat in silence and Stiles desperately tried to find a topic that would draw him out again.

“You must be pretty smart.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lucky for me that I’m both.”

“Both?”

“Pretty _and_ smart.”

Stiles couldn’t hold back his laugh. He laughed, long and hard, glancing up at Derek to see a smile forming on the edges of his lips, such a disparity from the stern look of his eyes. He looked younger when he smiled.  

“Dude! You really had me going there. Look, can I—do you want to get something to eat? With me?”

Derek held up his sandwich and raised his eyebrow.

“No, not now, I mean later, like tonight or tomorrow night or any night that you have some free time.”

Because _that_ didn’t sound desperate at all.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Stiles?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, yes. Yes.”

Derek grinned, looking down at his plate. “I’m free tomorrow night.”

“Really? That’s cool. That’s great,” he said, trying to be smooth. They both knew he wasn’t even close, but Derek didn’t seem to mind.

“Print that! I want that one!” Finstock yelled, patting Boyd on his back. “Send that one to the printers!”

Stiles turned to see Finstock looking at them. The Coach walked towards them, a wide smile on his face.

“Boys! Good work! Now, that’s what I like to see – team work, right? Right!” Finstock said, laughing loudly. He let out a happy sigh, putting his hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “All you need is love. John Lennon. Smart man. Shot in the back, very sad.”

“Did you just quote from ‘Independence Day?’ That doesn’t even make sense, Coach.”

“Yeah, well…”

He patted Stiles heartily, nearly pushing him off his chair. Finstock turned and stalked over to Boyd, yelling at his scrambling assistants like he was calling game plays or something. Stiles looked over at Derek and they stared at each other for a moment before breaking out into loud laughter, Derek’s deep tones blending with easily with Stiles’s amused snorts.

 

 

 

** And yes, that was a quote from the movie “Independence Day.”


End file.
